The Paradox of Belief
by Tidia
Summary: Dean and Sam investigate a death in N.H. and find an interesting clue to the truth. The investigation brings out the difficulties the brothers are having with their loss.Some S2 spoilers.Jo and Ellen Free Zone. Please read & review.
1. Chapter 1

**The Paradox of Belief**

**Author's Notes: First of all, this has been in my mind for awhile, but I had to wait until season 2 started before attempting to write it. There are some spoilers for season 2 within it. All errors are my own, since my beta is in crisis mode at this time. I honestly hope I solved the plot spiders. Thanks to Ridley for listening to the story idea and encouraging me to pursue it. For all writers out there, think about joining SNFanfiction at –some people can't get onto this website during work, but can receive emails.  **

Part 1

Sully shifted in the driver's side of the police cruiser. As a New Hampshire state trooper in the upper part of the state, Sully had to patrol the long stretched of highway. Although it seemed to be a sleepy area there was enough to keep the small barracks busy. Last week there had been lost hikers, then there was the drug bust and the week before there had been two car accidents.

A month earlier the local police found retired State Trooper Boone Dushane dead. A heart attack had struck him dead, only a few months after retirement. The loss had hit the barracks hard. Sully had been close with Dushane. Twenty years earlier he had taken Sully, a new recruit, under his wing. Boone turned into a good friend. Over the weekend he would visit Tracy and the kids, check on how they were doing after such a loss.

The end of Route 302 was ahead, then the trooper would turn around and head back because thankfully it was the end of his shift. He squinted, making out a form ahead. Why a hitchhiker would come out to rural New Hampshire he had no idea. It wasn't the first hitchhiker he had to escort to the nearest bus stop, and it would be the last.

He recognized the form as a woman even though her face was covered by a shawl and her body by a long sweater. Cold weather had come to the Northeast early. Only her eyes peered out at him. He used the intercom on the cruiser and called out, "Ma'am, please stop, and slowly turn towards me."

Sully waited, but the woman did not turn. He got out of the car. Carefully, he walked over to the woman. Sully knew he had to be prepared for anything. Twenty years as a state trooper had taught him that. The woman could be mentally unhinged, or just not able to understand English.

"Ma'am, I just want to help," he said in a low tone, as not to agitate her.

When she turned, the movement seemed to call up a wind. His mouth gaped open, and he didn't hear the other perpetrator approach him from behind. He felt something pummel his back, causing him to crumble to the ground. He undid the latch on his firearm as he felt another crack against his vertebrae. Pain exploded. He held out his hand for balance as he undid the safety in order to fire at his unseen attacker. The woman looked at him, but did nothing. He opened his mouth to call out for help, beg her to intercede, but felt the approaching sensation of darkness and death. "Oh, God."

SNSNSNSNSSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSSNNSNSNSNSN

Dean and Sam had been in Vermont when the local paper reported an incident, which had happened earlier in the week at Twin Mountains, New Hampshire. It struck the brothers as odd, because of the gruesomeness of the scene. They were a few hours drive away, and Sam suggested they investigate.

"Welcome to New Hampshire," Dean said, reading the sign that marked the entrance to the state.

Sam woke up. He had been dozing rather than sleeping, so his brother's first comment in an hour broke him from his reverie. His eyes flicked to the sign. "Hey, what time is it?"

Dean didn't glance at his watch. "A little after two."

The younger Winchester brother frowned. Last time he had looked at his watch it was two o'clock. He pushed his shirt sleeve up. "Dude, it's three thirty."

Dean gave a side long glance to his brother. "Yeah, that would be a little after two."

Sam noticed his brother was again closing off any conversation. He pressed forward, feeling safe in discussing something innocuous as a wrist watch. "Your watch die on two or something?" the younger hunter asked, jokingly.

"Yeah, guess so," was the curt reply.

Lately, Dean bristled when questioned. It all stemmed from their father's death. Sam was finding it difficult to deal with the demon's revelations, John's death and his relationship with his brother. There was no status-quo, just a shifting playing field with an ever changing set of rules.

"I'll spring for the extra battery." Sam fished his wallet out of his back pocket, pulling out a five dollar bill. Dean placed his right hand over the wallet. "What?"

"It won't help," the older hunter stated. He removed his hand, and instead increased the volume to the Impala's stereo.

"What wont?" Sam asked, but when Dean didn't answer him right away he thought he hadn't heard or he was being purposefully ignored.

Dean waited five minutes. "The battery."

Sam was perplexed, and reviewed the conversation.

The older hunter noticed his brother's reaction. He had to explain. He needed to share something with his brother in order to appease Sam. "Some people who have near death experiences don't wear watches 'cause they stop working. I've changed the battery on this one four times. Hell, I don't know why I even wear it."

Sam stared intently at the wrist watch. He swallowed, reliving Dean's near death experience in his mind. He recalled his brother's body arching up as charge was sent to his body to revive him.

"I stumped the geek boy." Dean grinned, but the teasing behavior didn't shine in his eyes. "Guess I'll just have to work on my internal clock."

"You can use your cell phone," Sam suggested, although his brother had probably been doing exactly that this whole time. Time worked against them in their line of work. They always needed a little more.

Dean put his left wrist on the steering wheel and removed the watch, handing it to his brother. "All yours."

Sam didn't want any more responsibility. He was concerned he had missed noticing the issue over the last three months. But, he was having his own pressing problems weighing on him. Somehow the hunts were providing a welcome distraction to both brothers that they were doing what their father expected them to do was a bonus. The younger brother cleared his throat. "A police officer dead. . ."

"In an out of the way outpost . . ." Dean added to the description, reminding Sam they had over an hour in the car to the remote area.

"Yeah, no leads either." Sam went along with the review of what brought them from Vermont to New Hampshire.

"Falling rocks, not an everyday occurrence, and then the comment in the paper that a retired state trooper from the same barracks died too. Think they knew each other?" Dean asked, wondering if his brother had researched a connection.

"Twin Mountains is too small a town to get any information out of. I looked in here." Sam pulled out their father's journal. "Nothing that can help us." Sam purposefully avoided using the term, Dad.

"Guess we're going to find out." Dean rolled his shoulders, his hands still on the wheel. "Damn, I gotta take a piss."

The highway was thickly tree lined. As they drove further into the state the cars were lessening although anyone passing by would know why the car was on the side of the road. "Then stop the car and mark your territory."

"What? Are you nuts? It's freezing out there." Dean frowned at his brother. It was early winter in the Northeast. "I'm not exposing one of my best parts to the elements."

"You could get a brain freeze." Sam laughed, and he wanted to laugh forever. Feel that nothing was wrong in the world. That he was just on a simple road trip with his brother. "You shouldn't have had so much coffee."

Dean raised his eyebrows in a taunt. "I didn't hear you say no to the free refill."

"I can hold my coffee better," the younger brother replied. His stomach sloshed its response.

Dean tightened his lips together and nodded. "Right, like your kidneys aren't about to explode…just thinking of water. . ."

Sam rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay, shut up, and find a rest stop."

"That's what I thought," Dean stated with a smug smile.

Dean found a rest stop after twenty more minutes. An hour later they pulled into Twin Mountains. It was tempting to start investigating at the police station, but the sun had set while driving, and it was dark in the small town. Finding some food, and then a place to stay became more important. Although Twin Mountains had three highways intersecting it, it was still a small town. The main road was Route 3, taking a left they found Munroe's Place.

They sat in a table by the window, keeping watch over the Impala and the cars driving by. The menus were tucked behind the mustard and ketchup. A quick glance and they were ready to order, a burger for Dean and a chicken sandwich for Sam.

The waitress was an older woman with dyed blonde hair. The heavy green eye shadow she was wearing creased in her wrinkles. After taking their order, she returned with two mugs of coffee and a handful of creamers.

"Excuse me," Sam stated, then quickly read her name tag, "Macy?"

"Food will be out in a minute," she replied. She looked at Sam, taking in his size. "I can bring you some bread."

"No, thanks. . ." Sam tried again. He was hungry, but there was also the pressing matter of finding a room.

"Bread would be great, Macy." Dean interrupted. Sam glared at his brother. Macy gave them both a smile, and was about to leave.

"Wait," Sam said to stop the waitress from leaving. "Actually, we were wondering if you could recommend a place to stay?"

Macy looked at Dean for confirmation. "So, no bread?"

"I still want the bread." The older Winchester brother nodded, and took a sip of his coffee.

"Forget about the bread!" Sam exclaimed in frustration.

Dean glanced at his brother. "He has something against carbs."

"Sorry," the younger Winchester apologized. He received a satisfied nod from his brother. He continued with his request to Macy. "I was wondering if you could suggest a place to stay? We're new in town. . ."

She was unfazed by the apology or the brother banter. "This is our busy time of the year." She pondered for a moment. "You want a cabin?"

Sam felt he was making some headway on a solution. He didn't care where they stayed as long as there was heat and a bed involved. "No, a motel or a room is just fine."

"Because it's ski season and you won't find a cabin this time of the year." Macy admonished him, not actually listening to Sam.

"Okay, cabin is out, anything else?" The younger hunter repeated. He looked at his brother for assistance, but Dean was enjoying Sam's discomfiture.

"You can try Seven Dwarfs Motel, oh, but they are only open May through October." The waitress shifted to one foot in thought. "The Shakespeare Inn, no, Emily said they were filled past the February school break." She shook her head, then stared intently at Sam. The dark haired hunter felt as though he was being judged. He must have past the test.

"There's Mr. Reynolds. He runs Johnson's. It's a boarding house, right on Route 3."

"Johnson's?" Macy nodded in affirmation. "Okay, thanks." Sam relaxed back in the chair, gripped his coffee, and sniffed the pungent aroma.

"I'll be back with your order." The waitress left, walking to the kitchen area of the restaurant.

"Dude, you need to chill," Dean commented. "I wanted that bread."

"I want to sleep in a bed, especially when it is cold outside." Sam frowned at his brother, whose moods had been uneven as of late. He had noticed the same thing in himself, but one of them had to be logical and it was his turn.

They ate their meal with a friendly banter. A hefty tip to Macy expressed their regret for being annoying patrons.

She rewarded them with vague directions of finding Johnson's at the lights.

But the directions had been accurate. "Yeah, there is only one set of lights." Dean said with awe.

"Oh, and there's the house," Sam added.

The white, rambling colonial home with its vinyl siding would have looked misplaced in a booming metropolis, but not in Twin Mountain. Dean pulled into the drive, and found the marked parking spaces in the rear of the house. They removed their duffle bags from the trunk. A spotlight, clicked on as they walked by and illuminated the front porch. Sam pressed the doorbell.

The curtain on the glass of the door was parted. The white haired man studied the brothers, opening the door, leaving the screen door between them for protection.

"Can I help you boys?"

"My brother and I are on a road trip, the waitress at Munroe's said you might have room for us for a few days?" Sam explained with what he hoped sounded like sincerity.

"Come on in. I'm Christopher Reynolds." The older man unlocked the screen door. Dean entered first.

"Do you own this place?"

"Yep." Christopher nodded, and gestured for the brothers to follow him into a back room. "Thought it would be a good place to retire-live free then die."

"Like the state motto," Dean chuckled at the play on words.

They were ushered into a cluttered office. The boarding house owner pushed some newspapers off one of the chairs. Dean sat down and looked around the room.

"My brother's interested in being a lawyer." The older Winchester smiled at Sam, motioning to the large diplomas framed on the wall.

"Not anymore." Sam studied the diplomas, feeling a slight pang when he saw the juris doctor degree emblazed with the Yale crest. However, his father's death and the incidents in the last year had changed him. He had made his decision to be a hunter.

"Good choice, just too many lawyers out there. I was a professor at GW and taught too many of those yahoos." Reynolds opened his desk draw and fished out a pen and a receipt form. "I need your name and credit card. You can have a room with a bathroom for a week at a time for seventy five dollars and that includes use of the kitchen."

"We'll take it." Dean took out his wallet and handed a MasterCard to the proprietor.

"The town put in Wicked Wifi. We get a great signal here, in case you have a laptop." Christopher spoke as he wrote the information from the credit card.

"Quite a stack of papers." Sam thumbed through one of the piles of yellowed papers.

"Writing my memoirs," Christopher commented. "I grew up around here. I use the newspapers as reference points." He handed Dean back the credit card.

"Can I borrow some of the recent papers?" Sam asked, noticing the state trooper's death was on the front page. He figured there would be information about the death, which could help them.

"Sure, just keep them neat." Reynolds reached for a one of the keys hanging above his desk. "You know being a lawyer is an honorable profession. Where did you do your undergrad?"

"Standford," Sam replied, omitting the fact he hadn't completed his education.

Christopher nodded. "I was a history major at Vanderbilt, and I didn't want to be a teacher –so I figured I would continue my education and try to help people."

"Weren't you a history major?" Dean added, taking the keys.

Sam glared at his brother, trying to will him to silence.

"Maybe Sam can drop by and you can talk some more?"

"Sure, anytime." The proprietor ushered them from the office and pointed to the staircase leading to their room. "I have some books if you're interested."

"Thanks." Sam shifted the newspapers, as he hitched his duffle bag higher onto his shoulder. He remained quiet until he entered the room. "Why did you do that?" he asked his brother, who had deposited his bag on the bed closest to the windows.

"What? You should keep your options open." Dean shrugged his shoulders.

Sam didn't want to push his brother into an argument. The younger Winchester knew there weren't any options available. He needed answers.

He sat on the twin bed, and began to read the newspaper, circling with his finger a name. "I know who we should talk to tomorrow," he said to Dean.

"I have to wear a suit, don't I?" Dean commented, lying on the other bed, his head cushioned by his crossed arms.

Sam smiled, knowing his brother hated the confines of a tie, shirt and jacket. "Probably."

Author's Note: The watch phenomenon that I described actually does exist in near death experiences.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: Paradox Of Belief**

**Author's Notes:** A shout out to all of the NH reviewers! But, thank you to everyone who took the time to review. They are appreciated. I am at work on Part 3, and hope that I can post it next week. Thanks to Ridley for saying this part made sense. All errors are my own. I hope that Fanfiction site alerts are working properly. Again this is also being posted at SNFanfiction at yahoogroups.

**Part 2**

The newspaper revealed Sully Whitmore had a widow and children in town. They both wanted to circumvent the authorities as much as possible, and visiting Carolyn Whitmore could provide them with more information.

The house was a mid-sized split level surrounded by a few acres of well-maintained lawn. Dean mentally noted a tire was in a tree in the front yard, showing children lived there. He pulled on the collar of his shirt, and stopped at the steps. Death was fresh at this home. The older Winchester brother felt intrusive. It wasn't like talking to the cops or coroner. This was a direct relative, like them. He knew what Carolyn was feeling, without even meeting her. Sam looked back at him and waited. He motioned for his brother to ring the door bell.

A slender woman, with a short blonde bob answered the door. She wore an oversized sweatshirt and jeans. She didn't offer a greeting.

"Are you Carolyn Whitmore?" Sam asked.

She nodded.

"I'm Dean, this is Sam. We're with the union." Dean explained, then added, "the women and children fund."

She nodded, as if they were expected, opening the door wide to allow them entry. They followed her up the stairs into the living room. The coffee table was set with cookies and a pitcher of water. Dean wondered if they were left over from the funeral a few days ago.

"My kids should be back soon. They went to the cemetery." Carolyn took a seat in the chair, which enveloped her body with its cushions. "Do you need to talk to them?"

"No, Ma'am." Sam responded.

The muted beige colors of the room were inviting and homey. Pictures of a happy family provided the wall décor. Dean could tell Carolyn Whitmore was a shadow of herself. In her pictures she looked like a vibrant woman. This woman before them was a woman straining to keep it all together.

"Can you tell us a little bit about your husband?" Dean asked, hoping to prompt some conversation. The brother's grief and her grief were intermingling into something tangible, causing the older hunter to swallow.

"We met at a 38 Special, Bon Jovi concert about 20 years ago." Dean couldnt help but smirking at the mention of the bands.

"You laugh." Carolyn picked up on the grin. "It's good to talk about him, keep his spirit alive, you know." She pursed her lips and a single tear fell. Dean tried to ignore it. "You don't know. I hope you never do." She smiled, feeling self conscious of her sadness around strangers. "I know I'm a cop's wife, and I'm supposed to be prepared for this, but I'm not. God, I'm not." She wiped her tears. The brothers didn't respond, giving her time to compose herself.

Dean poured her a glass of water. "Did your husband ever talk about his cases?"

She shifted the conversation away from the question. "He was a good man. I don't know how. I had to have a closed casket . . . People say that people are good, but they don't know what it means. He took care of me, the kids. He was strong. . ." She was lost in her memories, then blinked, recalling the question and her visitors. "I'm sorry, yes, usually about the drug cases. I'm a drug counselor. You wouldn't believe what goes on in a small town." She took a sip of water. "You think that's it—drugs?"

"We don't know, Ma'am." Sam interjected.

But, Carolyn had grabbed hold of the idea and pursued it. "There was a big bust, a meth lab in the town over. Jake said they have no leads, that maybe it was a freak accident, like when the Old Man of the Mountain came down." She became silent once more, waiting for them to say something further.

"You're a close bunch up here," Dean said, starting the conversation once more.

"We take care of each other." She replied. "You can stay for lunch. Like I said we take care of our own, lots of casseroles to feed the grief. They're all going to waste though." Dean shook his head. He had lost his appetite at the door.

His distaste grew. "I hate to ask, but can we see the death certificate? Just need to note it in our file."

She looked at them for a moment, replying with a nod. She got up from the chair and went into another room off the hallway. She returned within moments with a folder. "Here, it's in there."

Dean opened the folder in his lap, pushing it over so Sam could read along. The coroner's report had also been included. After reading all the information, Dean handed it back to her.

"Is there anything else you need?" It seemed as if Carolyn was on auto pilot, waiting for someone to give her direction.

"No, thank you, I think we have what we need. Someone will be following up with you." Dean said softly, and patted her arm. It was very unlike Dean to reach out to comfort anyone, but he could feel her confusion.

She watched them as they entered the Impala. Sam waved to her.

Dean started the engine, and pulled backed out of the driveway. "Can you make sure that someone from widows group contacts them." He told Sam.

"Yeah, sure." The younger Winchester reassured his brother, nodding. "Dean, about what she said…"

Dean knew he wanted to talk about John, but Dean couldn't at this point. "Yeah, could be just some drug dealer wanting revenge." The older hunter purposefully went on another tangent. "You saw those notes," he referred to the coroner's notes, "looked like he was bludgeoned to death, and then he fired his weapon. You don't fire your weapon at falling rocks."

"No, yeah, maybe, but Dean. . ." Sam turned so his back was against the passenger side door and he could face his brother. "Hey! Look out!" He braced his hand against the dashboard in anticipation of a crash.

But, Dean's reflexes were sharp, as soon as Sam pointed out the woman standing in their lane on Route 3, he turned the wheel of the Impala to the right. The Chevrolet responded, and Dean maneuvered the car to the side of the road. There was no longer any pavement, and the dirt kicked up as the older Winchester applied the brakes.

The woman was still in the road, seemingly waiting for them. Dean was about to call out to her, when he saw her flicker, then regain her form once more.

"You remember what happened last time." The older hunter said, recalling the prior occurrence of a female ghost appearing in the road.

They both got out of the car. Dean unlocked the trunk, keeping his attention focused on the poltergeist just like Sam. He passed his brother a salt rifle.

"She's just standing there," Sam commented.

"You better not wave to her." Dean felt uneasy. "Maybe we should make her jump?" He cocked the rifle, and aimed it.

"No, wait." Sam pushed the rifle down, and took a step forward.

Dean growled. He wished his brother wouldn't take so many risks. He studied the woman for a moment. She was remarkably plain, with brown, long straight hair, a long face and a pale complexion.

"See she wants us to follow her…" Sam followed a distance behind as the girl flickered to a nearby wall of rock.

"Is this a vibe on your psychic network or are we going to follow the girl and then be served as the latest course?" There was no reply from the younger Winchester. Sam was looking up. The girl had made it to the top. "Is she kidding me? She wants us to follow, but gives us no easy pass?"

Sam began to scale the wall. Dean followed, careful to find adequate footholds and handholds. It was difficult as they held onto the rifles and made their way up the twenty foot rock face. "To the right," he called out to his brother. The older hunter clearly saw a better way to climb.

The younger Winchester made it to the top, and stretched out his hand to help his brother. They both dusted themselves off, looking around for their poltergeist escort.

"There she is." Sam pointed to the girl, ensconced near some pine trees. He again started forward, as if compelled.

Dean felt no compulsion and was wary. "You know at about this time the flying monkeys attacked."

"I think we're safe from the flying monkeys." They were at the trees, which disguised a small cabin.

Dean nodded his head. He walked around the perimeter of the house. The cabin was one room, which Dean estimated to be about five hundred square feet. Peeking through the windows, he could see a small kitchenette. A generator was outside, by kicking it and hearing the hollow sound echo back, Dean knew the gas had long since evaporated. "Sam, like I've said before, never listen to a Casper." Dean showed his brother the dirt road, which seemed to lead to the main road.

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "I think she just wanted us to get into the house."

They walked to the front of the home, confident it wasn't occupied. A twist of the doorknob and they were inside. There was a layer of dust, but in some places it had been disturbed.

"There have been people up here." Sam walked around touching a wood kitchen chair. "Smells like. . ." The younger hunter let the comment die on his lips.

"Sex, Sam, smells like sex." Dean interjected, knowing exactly what his brother was about to say. "The ghost took us to a freakin' love shack." Dean walked around the small room. Suddenly, he felt a cold spot, signaling a ghostly spirit. He stepped back, the floorboard loosened.

Sam heard the sound, and crouched by the piece of raised up pine. Dean bent down, and sank down to his knees. With a tug, he removed the plank, revealing a cardboard shoe box.

Gingerly Sam removed the lid, revealing an old cassette player. A few tapes were neatly piled in the same box. "This girl found the right guy…not too many people have cassette players anymore."

"Shut up," Dean said, picking up one of the tapes, reading the scrawled date of '10/2/1988.' He removed the other tapes and popped out the cassette in the recorder.

Sam placed the floor board back, stamping on it to secure it into place.

This time they walked back to the car foregoing the climb, coming up about one hundred and fifty yards ahead of the Impala.

Dean flipped through the tapes finding the earliest one. "Hope they don't have any of the pop shit you like on this." He slipped it into the Impala's dash. The strains of Guns 'n Roses, Welcome to the Jungle could be heard through the speakers. Dean tapped his hand on the steering wheel in time with the tune.

_Welcome to the jungle  
We've got fun 'n' games  
We got everything you want   
Honey, we know the names  
We are the people that can find   
Whatever you may need  
If you got the money, honey  
We got your disease _

_In the jungle   
Welcome to the jungle  
Watch it bring you to your  
knees, knees  
I wanna watch you bleed _

_Welcome to the jungle  
We take it day by day  
If you want it you're gonna bleed  
But it's the price you pay  
And you're a very sexy girl   
That's very hard to please  
You can taste the bright lights   
But you won't get them for free  
In the jungle  
Welcome to the jungle  
Feel my, my, my serpentine  
I, I wanna hear you scream _

_Welcome to the jungle  
It gets worse here everyday  
Ya learn ta live like an animal  
In the jungle where we play  
If you got a hunger for what you see  
You'll take it eventually  
You can have anything you want  
But you better not take it from me _

_And when you're high you never  
Ever want to come down, YEAH! _

_You know where you are  
You're in the jungle baby  
You're gonna die  
In the jungle  
Welcome to the jungle  
Watch it bring you to your   
knees, knees  
In the jungle  
Welcome to the jungle  
Feel my, my, my serpentine  
In the jungle  
Welcome to the jungle   
Watch it bring you to your  
knees, knees  
In the jungle   
Welcome to the jungle  
Watch it bring you to your  
It' gonna bring you down-HA! _

Just as the lyrics were about to start on the next song, It's So Easy, a female voice interrupted.

_"Testing, 1,2,3, testing."_

"Damn! She taped over this?" Dean shook his head in disappointment.

"Shh," Sam replied, increasing the volume on the car's stereo.

_"Okay, honey, it works," _the female voice said.

_"Sara, you're taping over Appetite for Destruction?" _A male voice replied, with an annoyed tone to his voice.

_"Rick, this is important. Those cops, we need to protect ourselves," _Sara answered.

_"Okay, but you owe me a tape."_ Rick sighed. _There was the sound of a chair grating against the wooden floor. "They're here."_

_"Hello, just checking if everything's okay out here. You're pretty far away from the town." _Another male voice stated.

_"We like it that way, Officer Dushane."_

"Dushane? Wasn't that the other trooper that died?" Dean asked, slowing down the Impala, pulling over to the side of the road, as both brothers became enthralled with the taped discussion.

Sam nodded, and they continued to listen.

_"Given any more thought on what we said?"_ Another male voice added.

_"Would save you a lot of trouble, as officers of the law we can't let something like this go on." _There was another unidentified masculine voice.

_"Only if you get a piece of it?" _Sara asked.

_"Why don't you let your husband talk?"_ replied the second voice with a threatening tone.

_"He's not my husband." _

_"Officer Phillips, we know we're in trouble, but we don't want to always sell this stuff. Sara's an artist, and I'm working on my music."_ Rick interjected.

_"Marijuana is illegal in New Hampshire. We don't like pot smokers in our backyard."_

_"And the amount we found on you . . ." _Dushane let the threat trail off.

_"But, if we give you a cut, then you'll just ignore us."_ Sara enunciated each word.

_"Yep, and you can continue on with your little enterprise."_

_"Fine, thanks for making that clear Officer Whitmore."_

Dean lowered the volume on the stereo. "So we have our three players- Officers Dushane, Phillps and Whitmore, and two just happen to be dead."

Sam scratched the back of his neck. "This feels wrong, voyeuristic."

They listened to the rest of the tape, which concerned three more exchanges. They inserted the next tape.

It started with a knock on the door. There were no perfunctory exchanges, but instead a rustling of paper.

"_Business slow?" _Officer Phillips commented, evidently not satisfied with the amount of money.

"_We have competition and we've been busy." _Rick answered.

"_Busy with what?" _Phillips seemed to be the only state trooper present.

"_Our careers, of course," _Sara stated.

"_Ah, well, see you next week."_

The statement was accompanied by a door closing. Then silence before Sara spoke again.

"_They scare me, Rick."_

"_Come here."_

"_What?"_

"_I love you. I love you. I love you."_

They laughed, and it was a woman's sensual throaty laugh. The click on the cassette player was abrupt.

The next conversation began with Officer Dushane, sounding nervous. _"Look, we have another deal we think you would like." _

"_Deal? We don't want to do this anymore!" _Sara yelled at the officers.

"_You'll do this until we say so!"_ Officer Phillips yelled back.

_Dushane laughed. "Have you been smoking your product?"_

_His partner cleared his throat. "This has been good for all of us." _Phillips seemed to have calmed down.

"_So what's your idea?" _Rick asked.

"_Well, we were thinking of a bigger operation. . ." _The voices became hushed, and the tape did not pick up the conversation.

However, the next message seemed to illuminate the situation more.

"_So have you thought about what we talked about?"_ Officer Phillips said.

"_We have, just trying to get it all in place and see if we can make it work."_ Rick stated.

"_You do that." _Phillips said, and then there was a door closing, followed by a conversation between Rick and Sara.

"_Rick, we need to leave."_

"_I know Sara, I swear I'll get us out of this. . .I swear."_

Dean hesitated putting in the last tape, scared to what they were about to discover. But, they wanted answers, and felt vested in Rick and Sara's drama.

Sara's voice was clear. She was speaking directly into the tape recorder. _"Okay, I'm all alone and they are here—State Troopers Dushane, Whitmore and Phillips. Today is November 6, 1988." _There was a pause_. "God, help me."_

There was a clattering of the cassette player being hidden, then the sound of her footsteps going to the door.

"_Rick's not here."_

"_We'll wait." _Dushane stated.

"_Hear you have plans to leave town," _Phillips said.

"_Where did you hear that? That's not true."_

"_The problem is we're used to the extra money." _Officer Whitmore revealed. All three of the officers were present.

"_Cop's salary sucks," _Phillips said with an accompanying smacking sound.

"_It's supposed to be about helping people."_

"_And we are. We control the marijuana distribution."_ Whitmore explained.

"_It's only weed after all. What's a few joints?" _Dushane added._  
_

"_Criminal activity," _Sara replied.

"_When will Rick be back?" _Phillips asked.

"_A few more hours at least."_

"_I hear something," _Whitmore said.

_Then there was the sound of a scuffle, followed by Phillips growling, "You were lying to us?" _

Both Dean and Sam flinched when they heard the skin on skin contact. Sara had been slapped.

"_Rick!! Rick!" _She yelled out a warning

_The warning was silenced by a gun shot. _

The brothers shifted forward in their seats, waiting, hoping it hadn't been the sound they were familiar with.

"_Oh my God! Bill?" _Whitmore exclaimed, but was cut short by Rick entering the cabin.

"_What's going on? Sara? Sara!" Rick howled, then he was silenced by another gun shot. _

Dean wiped down his mouth with his hand. Sam began biting the edge of his thumb. The older Winchester brother went to shut off the tape, as the quietness continued for a minute, but then officers resumed their conversation. They were unaware of the recording.

"_What did you do?" _Dushane asked.

"_They're dead, man, dead. I knew this would be bad. I knew it_." Whitmore continued his litany.

"_Get a fuckin' grip on yourself, Sully, Boone. You didn't have any problems putting the money in your pocket." _Phillips said harshly

"_Blood money," _Whitmore added

"_Paid for my kid's braces, your kid's hockey equipment and didn't you just get a new truck?" _Phillips listed their expenditures.

"_We need to call this in," _Whitmore said.

There was a loud thump, as if someone had been pushed against a wall._ "No, we don't. We walk away. Leave no evidence." _Officer Phillips ordered.

"_What?" _Dushane had a panicked tone to his voice.

"_Yeah, in a few days we'll come back. Find quite an operation up here. Distribution for all the marijuana in the area. Guess it was a drug deal gone bad." _Phillips reported his plans to his friends.

"_I'm going to throw up." _Whitmore groaned.

"_No, you're not. Wipe the prints and let's go."_ Phillips ordered again.

Dean and Sam remained transfixed. They heard the threesome leave, the cars drive away, and then the eerie silence. They didn't know how long the whole exchange took, but eventually the tape ran out and clicked off.

* * *

Author's Notes: The **Old Man of the Mountain**, also known as the _great stone face_, was a series of five granite cliff ledges on Cannon Mountain in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, USA that, when viewed from the correct angle, appeared to be the jagged profile of a face. The first recorded discovery of the Old Man was in 1805. The outcrop was 1,200 feet above Profile Lake, and measured 40 feet tall and 25 feet wide. It collapsed in 2003. (Yes, I played with the date in this fic)  



	3. Chapter 3

Part 3

Author's notes: This is a shorter than the other parts—and you can all blame Ridley. We are planning on working on a fic together, and it is drawing my attention. But, I will finish this one first and this is the bridge part I need to get there. Thank you for all the kind, and surprising reviews. They are appreciated. This is also being posted on SnFanfiction at yahoogroups--yahoogroups seems to have less problems than fanfiction.

Paradox of Belief

"They killed them." Dean licked his lips, his mouth feeling dry. Sara had sacrificed herself to warn her boyfriend. Yet Rick had still died.

Dean thought of his father. John gave his life in exchange for his oldest son. His mother, Mary, tried to protect Sam with her life. In the end did it really matter? It just postponed the inevitable. His brother interrupted his morose thoughts.

"No one knows about this." Sam had rolled down his window, allowing air into the stagnancy of the car. "She's getting revenge, or maybe he is- can't say I blame them."

"Kinda like what we do." They were after the demon for what it had done to their family and others. Sara and Rick were after the state troopers who had killed them. Dean started the Impala.

"Guess so." Sam admitted. "Maybe we should talk to Christopher, our friendly landlord?"

Dean gave a sidelong glance to his brother, before looking back to the road.

"What?"

The older Winchester sighed. "She's clueless. The cop's wife. This comes out and she's destroyed."

"Yeah, I know." Sam's shoulders slumped with the weight of the same knowledge.

Dean didn't add a reply. They were committed, Rick and Sara had seen to that by exposing the tapes to the Winchester brothers.

They entered the boarding house with the key the landlord had given them. They called out to him.

"In the kitchen," he yelled back to the brothers. The older gentleman sat before a steaming bowl of beef stew. "You boys can help yourself, Mady made it."

Neither of them knew who Mady was, but the stew was inviting. Dean found the bowls in the cupboard. He ladled a generous portion for each of them.

Between bites Dean wove a story. "Our car broke down and we found this cabin. . ."

"Lots of cabins around here. Which one and did you steal something?" Reynolds stopped eating. He narrowed his eyes, waiting for an answer.

Sam laughed nervously. "Did a lot of your students break under the pressure of your glare?"

"Usually one a semester left the room in a panic." Christopher replied, raising his brows, and not forgetting he had asked a question.

"This place looked like no one has lived there for awhile, and the door was open." Dean provided the landlord with a sufficient response since he began to eat again.

"Where was it?" Christopher wiped his mouth with a napkin.

"Up, out of the way on Route 3, hidden by some pine trees, but less than a mile and you can get back on the road." Sam tried to provide an accurate description.

Reynolds rolled his eyes up to the ceiling in thought. "Wait, not that so-called haunted cabin?" He pulled away from the table, continued talking as he went into his office. "Paper did a story on the anniversary of the unsolved murders a few months ago." He still continued to talk to them from the other room. "I remember it was big news, but I can't tell you the names or anything."

Christopher returned to the room with a newspaper. He read the front page. "Some people think it was a lover's quarrel and some say a drug deal gone bad." He handed the paper to Sam. "Either way, now kids are using it because it is private and romantic in that haunted kind of way."

"Yeah, we noticed." Dean said, finishing off his bowl of stew, and ignoring Sam who glared at him. "What is with people tempting fate in haunted places?"

The younger Winchester kicked his brother, but Reynolds didn't acknowledge Dean's statement.

"Can we keep this? It's kind of interesting reading." Sam asked.

Christopher waved him off, picking up his bowl, and the plates of the brothers. "Sure, like I said before I'm in the early part of my memoirs."

The brothers went upstairs, Dean reading the paper over Sam's shoulder.

"So it's like they said. They went up there two days later and found the bodies." The younger hunter stated. "Everything went according to their plan."

"'Course it did. The paper said that Rick and Sara had a falling out with their families, and then to discover they were tied up with drugs…embarrassing and why want more of an investigation?"

"It wasn't like hard core drugs." Sam flipped back to the first page where the story started.

Dean neither agreed nor disagreed. He was ambivalent about drug use, having learned from his father drugs would not be tolerated in the Winchester household. "When did that first trooper die—Dushane?"

Sam put down the paper, and went to the other pile he had gotten from Christopher when they signed in. "Says here little over a month ago."

Dean picked up the paper his brother had discarded. "Round the same time that cabin became a love shack. All that rockin' must have gotten Rick and Sara all hot and bothered."

"So they went after the men responsible. . ."

"Looks like." Dean sat down next to his brother. They knew the poltergeists were Rick and Sara, and they were killing state troopers. The older Winchester knew the course of action as did Sam.

"We should burn that cabin down, then go warn Phillips just in case." Sam folded up the newspaper carefully.

"Maybe." Dean rubbed a hand across his mouth. They had a solution, but still he wasn't satisfied.

"Maybe?" The younger Winchester looked at his brother.

The older hunter shrugged his shoulders, divulging the truth to his brother. "Why give him a chance? The burning might end it all."

"Might," Sam stressed the word.

"Yeah, might." Dean knew the meaning his brother was referring to. The Winchesters got rid of the supernatural. They did not get involved in providing human justice.

But, the younger Winchester was able to see both sides of an argument. He also understood his brother. "I don't know. A lot of times seems like a burning isn't enough. I would like to see that he turns himself in or something."

"We're not the police." Dean reminded his brother, but knowing Sam was providing an oppurtunity. "And we could be opening a can of worms –there are people that think these guys are the good guys." Dean said it, wondering if they should tamper with the memory of these men. Wondering how he would feel if someone made disparaging contentions against his father.

"I know, Dean," Sam said simply, echoing his brother's feelings.

"But, hell, I'm for a little justice and seeing how the chips fall." Dean rubbed his hands on his jeans, then stood up. "How about we check out the state police barracks?"

Sam smiled and gave a nod.

The barracks were nearby. The brothers strode through the doors, and warmly greeted the officer on duty at the desk.

"I'm Dean and this is Sam, we're from the—"

"Boston Herald," the younger Winchester added. He then continued with an explanation. "We're doing a story about fallen state troopers, and heard about Steven Whitmore."

"Quite a loss," the man replied solemnly. His eyes flicked out the glass door to the flagpole with its flag at half mast. "He was a good man."

Dean found the dichotomy of Steven Whitmore uncomfortable. On the one hand there was this loving family man, and on the other hand there was this man involved in a heinous crime and cover-up. "We'd like to talk to someone who knew him from the beginning. You know, when he started with the staties. . ."

"Any help would be fantastic, maybe a mentor?" Sam suggested, hoping with enough prompting they would get information on Trooper Phillips.

The officer gave it some thought, and gave them the answer they wanted. "There's Keith Phillips. He retired awhile back, after his wife died of cancer. He lives over in Cushman."

"Sounds perfect." Dean smiled. "Can you give us an address?"

"Sure, Nineteen Common Street. He has a barbeque there every year." The officer wrote down the address on a slip of paper and pushed it thought the opening in the glass window.

"Thanks, you've been a big help." Sam accepted the paper, and put it in his jacket pocket.

They walked out, heading to the car. The younger hunter turned the address over to his brother. "You ever think about how much information is freely given."

Dean fingered the note. "Yeah, if not then our job would be a pain in the ass, and we wouldn't get to dress up."

"Dress up?" Sam frowned.

"Sam, I know how much you like those priest outfits." Dean grinned, opening the Impala's door.

"Shut up." The younger Winchester brother replied. His brother was jealous he had made a more pious looking priest.

They headed up to Rick and Sara's cabin, this time finding the side road off of Route 3 instead of climbing the rock face. Each brother took a can of gasoline, and walked around the perimeter. Dean went inside, gave a few splashes to make sure everything would burn. By the time they were finished, dusk had descended.

They lit the house, and watched as the fire caught, consuming the small cabin. After thirty minutes a dark smoke began to spiral in the air. At some point the fire department would be called by an astute Samaritan or neighbor.

"I'm sorry we had to do that." Sam was mesmerized by the fire. It was supposed to be a place that held promise and a chance for Rick and Sara.

Dean nodded. He clapped his brother on the back. "Me too. Let's get out of here. We're not done yet."

Cushman was a few towns over. A rural community, if that was possible after Twin Mountains. In forty-five minutes, both boys were again angry. They channeled it, roughly placing the car in park in the gravel driveway in front of Phillips's home.

They went up the cement walk, rang the doorbell and insistently knocked on the door. A cop, retired or not, would not be able to ignore a disturbance at his front door, in his domain. A porch light turned on, illuminating the brothers.

A burly man came to the door, this belly hanging over his jeans. He was cleanly shaven, a receding hairline evident with his short gray hair. He looked flustered and annoy. "Don't know what you're selling, but I don't want it. Get out." He was about to shut the door, but Sam jammed his sneaker so it remained open.

"We want to talk about Steven Whitmore," Sam said, placing a hand against the door so there would be less pressure against his foot.

"And Boone Dushane," Dean added the other trooper's name.

"Yeah." Phillips jutted out his pudgy chin. "What about them?"

"Back in 80's you had quite a set up going on. How much protection money did you take in?" Dean placed his hand on the door too. Sam removed his foot.

The retiree shook his head, and wrinkled his face. "Boys, I don't know what you're talking about."

"About Rick Laramet and Sara Barry." The younger Winchester studied the man's face, looking for a reaction. "Sound familiar?'

"No." Keith's eyes narrowed and he shifted his body to the right.

"Really, 'cause it was a big case around here and you and your friends just happened to find the bodies. . .after killing them." Dean snarled, pushing the door towards the man in order to see him jump slightly in fear.

"We know what you did," Sam said in a low, menacing voice.

"What I did?" Phillips brought a rifle to his shoulder, which he had been hiding. "This gun says that you need to leave."

Nonplussed Dean looked straight at the rifle barrel. "Still the shoot first kind of guy, aren't you?"

Phillips placed his weight behind the door, breaking the boy's grip. He fired the rifle over their heads, their ears ringing from the loud sound of the discharge. "Get out of here!" He yelled at the two young men.

They backed down two steps. Dean held a hand out to his brother, signaling him not to retreat further. "Not yet. You see your two partners are dead. Rick and Sara are getting their revenge."

"Turn yourself in and hope they don't get to you." Sam warned, knowing it was futile.

"Now, you listen." Keith spat the words. "Get off my property." He slammed the door shut.

The boys backed away, their eyes never leaving the front door. "That went well," Sam said as he opened the passenger side door.

"Did you really think he was going to admit that he did it?" Dean replied over the hood of the Impala.

"No, not really." Sam's eyes looked back at the house, catching the retired trooper still watching them.

Dean smiled, and waved to the man at the window. "Now, we get to have some fun."

TBC

**Author's note: As you may guess this is an Ellen and Jo free zone. I do not like the new characters. I understand that some people do. Regardless if you like them or not, please take the time to provide feedback to Kripke and Dawn Ostroff. Tell them what you like and don't like just like you do with the reviews. Here are the addresses if you would like to write a letter or even a postcard. **

**Dawn Ostroff****  
CW**

**11800, Wilshire Blvd.****  
****Los Angeles, CA 90025**

**Eric Kripke****  
****9465 Wilshire Blvd****  
****Suite 880****  
****Beverly Hills, California 90212****  
****USA**

Supernatural Films Inc

8085 Glenwood Dr.

Burnaby BC

V3N 5C8

Canada


	4. Chapter 4

I know this isn't an update. This is I PASSED THE MASSACHUSETTS BAR! I am officially (once I am sworn in) a licensed attorney! Thank you to all who were rooting for me. I will probably drink enough tonight that I can tolerate Jo and Dean—okay not really (grin) WOOHOO!!

Tidia


	5. Chapter 5

**The Paradox of Belief**

**By: Tidia**

**Author's Notes:** Well, I want to thank all the lovely people who were kind enough to offer their congratulations. WOOHOO-I passed the bar exam and I am officially (well in like 3 weeks at the ceremony) a lawyer. Too bad No Exit was not a good episode, well at least for me. As always, this is an **Ellen and Jo free zone**. Thank you for all the nice reviews—I had wanted to write this fic because I wanted to incorporate the boys finding tape recordings. I already have another fic planned with Ridley-it will be for Christmas and it will be a Brotherhood AU twist.

**Part 4**

Keith placed the gun on the rack again. He ambled to the kitchen at the rear of the house. He took out the frying pan, and then went to the refrigerator for some eggs, and vegetables. His wife had done much of the cooking. Since her death he relied on the grill, frozen meals and the kindness of others. He had steak thawed, but those boys had affected his appetite. He hadn't given Rick Laramet and Sara Barry a second thought. All a means to an end. So instead of steak it would be an omelet.

True, his friends had died. Boone had died of a heart attack. There had been no revenge or foul play. Sully's death was still being investigated, but looked like an accident. Kevin poured the eggs, and they sizzled back. He added in some mushrooms and chopped peppers. The retired officer was tempted to call the local police on the boys as trespassers. He had taken down their plate number. But, they were mouthy, and if one person believed them, then he would be in trouble. Better to let sleeping dogs lie.

He scraped the eggs onto a dish, bringing it over to the recliner. He liked eating dinner and watching television. His wife never approved of eating in front of the television. But, it was too quiet to eat alone at the table.

He finished off his omelet, with Brian Williams and the evening news keeping him company. He placed the plate on the floor and went to get a beer to wash it all down. He opened the refrigerator and the light inside flickered. He thought nothing of it.

"Probably the bulb going out." He closed the refrigerator door, and twisted open the Budweiser, taking a long drawl. But, then the kitchen lights began to dim too. "Damnit, circuit breaker panel must be going."

He went downstairs to the basement, grabbing the flashlight that was on the shelves lining the steps. Opening the panel, there was no tell-tale burning smell. Everything seemed in working order.

He began to climb the stairs, and heard thumping noises, emanating from the floorboards. He gripped the flashlight harder, ready to use it as a weapon. He lay flat against the wall, as he made his way up the stairs. In the kitchen, with the lights still flickering, he went to the cutlery draw, pulling out the butcher knife.

He waited, and the thumping noise in the living room stopped, but now seemed to be coming from the second floor. He made his way through the kitchen, and then to the gun rack. He usually didn't leave the gun loaded, but was glad he had waited. He primed the rifle, and made his way up the stairs. The flickering lights were giving him a headache.

He went through the two bedrooms, carefully, with rifle first and found nothing. The lights had gone out completely. "Probably some weird power company thing."

He returned downstairs, still keeping the rifle close. He picked up the phone in the living room. There was no dial tone. He smashed the phone down, disgusted. It was like his whole house was revolting on him. His cell phone was on the charger in the den.

He walked past the recliner. "Shit!" he exclaimed as his socked foot crunched down on the plate he has discarded on the floor. He flashed the light on his sock and saw the blood. He felt for any shards, but there were none. He growled in frustration. "Fuck!"

He limped over to the cell phone. His phone was not in plugged in. It was no where to be found. "This is ridiculous." Keith took a deep breath, trying to remember where he put the phone.

He was distracted by the sound of someone talking. However, it seemed at a distance. "Hello?" He called out, feeling foolish. He shook his head, and returned to the living room. He would just read a book, and then in the morning figure what was going on with the electricity and the phone.

The voices, previously muffled, were clearer in the other room.

_"Given any more thought on what we said?"_

_"Would save you a lot of trouble, as officers of the law we can't let something like this go on."_

_"Only if you get a piece of it?" _

_"Why don't you let your husband talk?"_

_"He's not my husband." _

_"Officer Phillips, we know we're in trouble, but we don't want to always sell this stuff. Sara's an artist, and I'm working on my music."_

_"Marijuana is illegal in New Hampshire. We don't like pot smokers in our backyard."_

_"And the amount we found on you . . ." _

_"But, if we give you a cut, then you'll just ignore us."_

_"Yep, and you can continue on with your little enterprise."_

_"Fine, thanks for making that clear Officer Whitmore."_

It was all familiar, too familiar. Keith wiped down his mouth. He looked widely around the room, using the flashlight to highlight every corner. He was alone.

_"Look, we have another deal we think you would like." _

_"Deal? We don't want to do this anymore!" _

_"You'll do this until we say so!"_

_"Have you been smoking your product?"_

_"This has been good for all of us." _

_"So what's your idea?" _

_"Well, we were thinking of a bigger operation. . ."_

"No!" The retiree yelled out. "You're dead! You're all dead!" He covered his ears with his hands, trying to drown out the voices. His partners were dead. He had taken care of those kids too, all those years ago. This was all his imagination. But, it had been strange those boys conveniently at his front door earlier. . .

He strode to the back door, through the kitchen, rifle at the ready. "I know you're out here." He called out. Keith saw some ruffling leaves. He fired the rifle in that general direction. His property was surrounded by a wooded area. Just in case, he fired in the other direction. The voices stopped.

In the still darkened house, Keith relaxed in the recliner. He was satisfied he had scared whatever was assaulting him, away. He closed his eyes, and the voices returned. He lurched from his seat, his eyes wild.

_"Rick's not here."_

_"We'll wait." _

_"Hear you have plans to leave town." _

_"Where did you hear that? That's not true."_

_"The problem is we're used to the extra money." _

_"Cop's salary sucks." _

_"It's supposed to be about helping people."_

_"And we are. We control the marijuana distribution."_

_"It's only weed after all. What's a few joints?" _

_"Criminal activity."_

_"When will Rick be back?" _

_"A few more hours at least."_

_"I hear something." _

_"You were lying to us?" _

_"Rick!! Rick!" _

Keith flinched at the sound of the gun shot.

_"Oh my God!_"

_"What's going on? Sara? Sara!" _

Keith covered his face with his hand at the sound of the other gun shot. He had pulled the trigger and killed her. He had to or else he would have lost everything. He yelled out into his vacant house drowning out the voices.

_"Rick!! Rick!" _

_"Oh my God!_"

_"What's going on? Sara? Sara!" _

He felt the omelet and beer churn in his stomach. He knew he was in the middle of his living room, but he retched and gagged at the sound of the gun shots being repeated, his throat already sore from yelling. The dealings had all been for the right reasons-to provide better for his family. But, now his wife was gone, his son was married and living in Maine, and he thought he had remained unaffected with no regrets.

_"Rick!! Rick!" _

_"Oh my God!_"

_"What's going on? Sara? Sara!" _

Keith dropped to his knees. His friends, if he could even call them that, were gone. They had taken the secret to their graves as he had been prepared to do. He had made peace with it, never having been confronted by the deaths he had caused. But, he had committed murder, no matter how he had justified it to himself all those years ago. He heard the gun fire being repeated again. He crawled to the door, using the door knob to lift himself up. He didn't know if he was being haunted or what to believe, but he was compelled to tell the truth.

"I did it. I'm sorry, so sorry." He stayed there, in the cold air, crying, gasping for air between the tears. Spent, he went back inside. Tomorrow he would clean up and make things right.

The Winchester brothers stood transfixed at the scene, which played out before them. When Phillips returned inside, Sam silently examined his brother's wound. Dean gave him a nod, showing the bleeding had slowed.

The ricochet of the bullet caught the boys off guard. Dean had been forced to take a step back. He had opened his mouth, and found it covered by Sam's hand. His arm felt like it was burning. He had closed his eyes for a moment, until the pain was a dull throb. Dean opened his eyes, meeting Sam's when he had felt back under control, and Sam removed his hand from his brother's mouth.

The younger Winchester had checked the injury. Dean had pulled his arm away, clamping his hand over it. He had gestured for Sam to continue to play the recording. The dark-haired hunter pressed play, and they waited for a reaction from the retired officer.

They waited another half an hour, readying to pack up since they felt no one could keep hearing the tortured murders over and over again without effect. Actually, Dean had to admit, he couldn't bear hearing the deaths again. The brothers were surprised when Phillips exited the house to proclaim his culpability.

Once Keith returned inside, Sam collected the speakers. Dean had hidden the cell phone in the house, and eventually the retiree would find it. The electricity and the phone could be fixed easily by morning light. Dean had the cut the wires.

They cut through the woods, returning to the Impala. In the car Sam sat in the driver's seat, while Dean fumbled under the passenger seat for the first aid kit. "It's a flesh wound. You can do it."

"Let's just go to the hospital." Sam started the engine, his brother having acquiesced the seat due to his wound.

Dean sat up, first aid kit in his hand. "And say what?"

"You got hurt hunting squirrels." The younger Winchester grinned.

"Squirrel?" Dean frowned. "You're fucked." He did not want to go to the hospital. They would draw too much attention to themselves along with the cabin fire. He caught the grin, so he knew his brother was teasing him.

"I'll take care of it," Sam mumbled, looking into the night and the ride back. "I think we crossed a line back there."

"Then pay attention to the road." His brother was not talking about the two yellow lines. Dean fumbled with a bandage, trying to cover the wound.

"You know what I mean." Sam drove with one hand. "Ghosts, poltergeists-they do the haunting not us."

"Just using our knowledge for good not evil," Dean answered. His brother wasn't satisfied. "Look, he admitted it. We burned the cabin and he's fine."

"Unlike his buddies," Sam added, placing his other hand back on the steering wheel.

"Right, so we could have walked away and let Rick and Sara get their revenge but we didn't." Dean provided his justification. He wished his brother would suspend the discussion.

The younger Winchester gave a furtive glance to his brother. "Would Dad have done it?"

"Sam," Dean warned. He did not want to start using their father as a barometer to measure their actions against. They were better not going there.

"Do you think Dad would have tortured the guy like we did?" Sam continued when his brother didn't provide any answers.

"Yes, okay, yes. I mean where do you think we, I, got my moral standards from?" The older Winchester brother replied testily. It was inappropriate to begin to even guess their father's character and motives. Dean felt uncomfortable, questioning if they ever knew the man. He was not prepared to examine the facets of John Winchester. "Now will you be able to sleep at night, cupcake?"

Sam shrugged his shoulders, not committing to an answer. He revved the engine, and continued to drive to the boarding house.

They ascended the stairs to their room, quietly; thankful everyone in the house was fast asleep. In the room Dean cleaned up in the shower. Sam was careful cleaning out the wound, using paper towels so they left no evidence behind. It was a deep graze, but they had been lucky Phillip's shot had been haphazard.

"Stop moving. I'm trying to make them small and even." Dean might not have cared for the scarring, but Sam did, noticing the remaining mark from the hot poker.

Dean rubbed his neck. "Damnit Sam, finish it already."

The younger Winchester narrowed his lips, and tied off the black thread. "Done." He stepped back and admired his work, before placing a think layer of antibiotic ointment and a white bandage over the stitches. Sam collected the trash in a paper bag they would take with them and dispose of later.

The older Winchester brother put on his t-shirt. From his shaving kit he pulled out two Extra Strength Tylenol, taking a swallow of bottled water to wash them down. He pulled down the covers, and bunched up the pillow. "'Night Sam." He closed his eyes, trusting that his brother would get to sleep sooner or later.

In the morning the brothers packed their belongings. "You did good, Sam." Dean said, admiring the neat stitches. The wound was clean, with no sign of infection. The older Winchester brother put on an over-shirt, and his jacket. He hitched his duffle bag on his unaffected shoulder.

Sam grabbed his bag, the newspapers and the box of tapes. "You okay with this?" He gestured to the tapes.

"Like, I said bro, this is your decision." Dean opened the door, exiting to the first floor. Christopher was in the kitchen, stirring a bowl of instant oatmeal, the Quaker Oats box on the counter beside the stove.

Dean cleared his throat to get the landlord's attention. He fished the key from his jacket pocket and placed it on the kitchen table. "We're heading out to leave."

"You paid for the week." Reynolds said, taking the key from the table and slipping it into his pants pocket.

"Just going where the road takes us," Dean explained. "We're not asking for a refund."

Christopher nodded, shifting his glances between the two brothers. "That cabin you were asking about burned down."

"Real sorry to hear that," Sam answered. He wanted to deny their involvement, but that would have them appear to be guilty. He remained silent, knowing the former law professor was trying to connect them to the arson.

"Me too," Reynolds replied. He reached out for the bowl of oatmeal, transferring it from the counter to the table.

Sam stepped forward. He placed the newspapers on the table, then held out the box of tapes. "But, we want to give you these. You decide what to do with them."

Christopher accepted the box, and looked inside, seeing the tapes. "I decide?"

"Yeah, you'll understand." The dark haired hunter nodded. "Do what's fair."

"You can add it to your memoirs," Dean suggested. He tugged on his brother's jacket. It was time to leave. They couldn't afford anymore questions.

They were five miles out of town, when there was a traffic backup. Dean drummed his hands against the Impala's steering wheel. "Must be an accident. Traffic in this town? Not possible."

"Looks like cars are turning around." Sam pointed at the vehicle in front of them, who was making a u-turn.

Dean inched forward, until a police officer halted them. Both the brothers saw there had been an accident up ahead involving a late model Ford Taurus. The older Winchester brother rolled down the driver's side window. "What's going on, officer?"

"Accident up ahead. We need you to turn around." The policeman explained.

"Okay," Dean rolled up the window, and cut the wheel to the right.

"Dean! That's Keith Phillips!" Sam leaned forward in the passenger seat. The emergency medical personnel were transferring the body of Phillips to a black body bag. The saw the visage before the body was sealed in the bag.

"Ahh, Sam?" Dean gestured with his chin to the man and the woman standing thirty feet from the scene.

The car behind them honked. Dean waved his hand, and completed the turn. The brothers looked out the rearview and side mirrors. The couple was no longer there.

"Rick and Sara?" Sam asked his brother.

Dean licked his lips. The couple had gotten their revenge. The older hunter, like his brother, wondered if they had lead Keith Phillips to his death. "Does it make a difference? What's done is done."

"I guess it's over," Sam commented, his eyes still looked out the side view mirror.

"For them," Dean said with a low voice. The brothers still had work to do.

**The End**

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